It's the Quiet Ones
by DarkeFlame
Summary: You have to watch out for. This is my take on what the relativly non-existant/nonviolent characters would do if they turned bloodthirsty. It's getting graphic, so there is character death/suffering/angst/torture. Characters are subject to change.
1. Scenario 1: Bipolar Vengeance

Ukraine: Bipolar Vengeance

Scenario 1:

Russia was walking through one of America's cities, because he was looking for something to give Belarus for her upcoming birthday. His little sister might kill him if he didn't remember, and though he might not stay dead, the experience isn't a fun one.

He was mostly thinking about what he should get her, other than his hand in marriage, so jewelry was out of the question. He was hoping to avoid that sort of confrontation. Knives were discarded as well; he didn't want to make her any more dangerous than she already was. He was toying around with the idea of clothes. A new dress, perhaps? But what are her measurements…

He was startled out of his musings when he heard whimpering coming from a nearby alleyway. Russia was prepared to ignore it and move on, but he had a bad feeling about this. He has learned to trust his instincts, as they have saved him from much pain in the past. He glanced in the alleyway slyly, not letting on that anything was wrong.

He paused before he passed the dismal entrance, when he heard a soft sob. 'It must be a woman' Russia thought to himself. He remembered back to when he found out what had happened to his older sister. He recognized the voice. That voice, it was no stranger's. It was another country. Specifically, it was Ukraine's voice.

So that's why he had a bad feeling. Someone dared hurt his sister. He might not be as close to her nowadays, but he would still murder anyone who laid a hand on her. Despite his huge size, he silently withdrew his rusty pipe, and stalked into the alley. He found her in a bricked up doorway, holding herself and shivering. She looked up with tearful eyes.

"R-Russia?" She whispered. "Is it really you?" Ukraine stood up, arms wrapped around her (partially) scrawny frame.

"Who did this to you, big sister?" Russia asked menacingly, kol'ing. "They will pay." Ukraine slowly walked towards Russia, who stowed his pipe away in his coat.

"They will. Why don't we start with you, little brother?" Ukraine's whole demeanor changed. Her arms fell from around her, revealing a gun that she had hid beneath her voluminous chest. Her voice changed from a fearful whimpering to a vengeance-fueled drawl. She pointed the weapon at her brother's forehead. "Have fun in hell." BANG!

Russia woke up a few hours later, chained from head to foot. He struggled futilely against his restraints.

"Awake already, little brother?" Ukraine slowly stepped from the shadows. "Now your real punishment begins…" She trailed off menacingly, holding up a bloodstained riding crop. Russia recognized it-he had beaten Lithuania with it during his USSR days. What else had Ukraine gotten a hold of…?

**So what do you think? My second attempt (first was for KHR) at writing something serious. The first attempt was lost when my computer crashed. All 23 pages of it. So I wasn't happy. I'm trying to fix it, but it will never be as perfect as the original. I'm sorry if Russia seems OOC. And Ukraine is supposed to act all psycho. It was on purpose. She had a psychotic break, and this is the result, in my mind. Review if you want me to continue, or if you have any suggestions. I already have Canada, Poland, and N. Italy finished, and Lichtenstein is under construction.**


	2. Scenario 2: Jelous Brother

Canada: Jealous Brother  
>*Pre-Hetalia, set before Atom bombs were constructed, 1920's(?) some swearing, but not extreme.<p>

Scenario 2:

It was the end of another G8 meeting. Canada was just beat up by Cuba (again)and went to talk to his brother about it.

"Hey, Alfred." Canada tapped his brother on the shoulder with an icepack, before placing it over his now-black eye to keep the swelling down until it healed. He hitched Kumajiro up on his hip, like one would a doll, telling his bear that, no, you can't bite people, even if they do accidentally hit you in the face, as America turned around.

"Hey, Mattie, what happened to you? You look like you got hit by a truck!"America slung an arm around his brother's shoulders, almost knocking Canada off his feet.

"You. You happened. Cuba beat me up again, all because he thought I was you. After I was almost suffocated when Russia sat on me, since hardly anyone ever notices me, and I was attacked/molested by France of all people, and-" Canada stopped to take a breath in the middle of his rant.

"Look, I'm sorry, Mattie, I really am. But I can't help it if everyone thinks you're me. Even if I am a hero." America looked downcast for a moment, before brightening up again. "Now come on, let's go to McDonalds! I'm hungry, and the hero can't go without food!" He ran towards the door, Mathiew in tow.

"Wait, the door's locked. They locked us in here? How could they forget about me, I'm the hero!" America yelled, completely forgetting that Canada was right behind him. America started pounding on the door, trying to break the lock and force the door open.

"They didn't lock us in here. I did. You will listen to me, Alfred, whether you want to or not." Canada pushed America into a chair with a force he usually only displayed in the hockey rink. He slammed a set of papers onto the table in front of America. "Sign them. Now."

"Mattie, what's going on? You're acting weird." America looked up at his brother, smiling dangerously.

"I'm just making sure that no one will mistake us ever again. Now sign." Canada forced a pen into his brother's hand, placing it on the page. America scanned over the paragraphs quickly.

"Mattie, I don't know what's going on here, but you better let me go, right now. I'm not ceding my lands to you, and I will fight you, even if you're my brother."

"You can try resisting, but you will lose. Remember 1812?" Canada replied. They stared each other down. Canada eventually blinked, grabbed the papers, and walked out.

"Fine. But one day, soon, you will be mine." With that, Canada slammed the door. An audible click resounded through the room. America got up, and tried to leave, again.

"You bastard! You locked me in? Damnit, Mathiew, let me OUT!"

Soon after that, war was waged between the two brothers. They called in favors, pulled in allies, did anything they could to kill each other. It was soon to become one of the bloodiest wars in history. The North American twins were doing anything and everything to kill the other. Canada burned down the White House, America set off a bomb in Quebec.

No one knew what had transpired in that fateful meeting room, no matter how many questions were asked. France and Britain were doing their best to stay away from the fighting, trying not to pick sides. Russia declared war on America alongside Canada, with the promise of several hundred square miles of land. Prussia (and subsequently, Germany) also sided with Canada. China and most of South America were pulled over to America's side, but still had no information as to what had caused this bitter feud.

The current death count was over 30 million.

Out of about 250 million people. I did some my homework. Technically not yet, but that's what procrastinating is for! Also, do you think America is OOC? I'm not sure if I did him justice… and should I make a part 2 to this? I was thinking WW3 type scenario, but I don't know if it's better as is. I still want to know what you'd like to see. Like, who else would go insane and kill everyone. Except for the Nordics. I don't feel like I have a good enough grasp on their characters yet. If one of you could provide a personality bio, we'll talk about it.


	3. Scenario 3: Killer Heels

Poland: Killer Heels  
>*I have no clue how to write these two. Or how to speak valley girl. I tried. Hopefully I got it close.<p>

Scene 3:

"I'm sorry, Feliks, I really didn't mean it!" Lithuania burst out, realizing what he just said. He had just gotten back from helping his brothers, the other Baltic States, handle Russia. "Please don't hate me." He pleaded.

"That hurt me, Toris, it really did. I thought we were friends?" Poland said, tearing up. He turned away from the taller nation, rubbing his eyes.

"Please, don't cry, Feliks, I never meant any of it!" Lithuania reached out to the other in an attempt to console the cross-dressing male. Poland flinched away.

"I-I'm not crying. It would ruin my makeup. What makes you think that I'm crying?" Poland sobbed. Lithuania pulled back his hand, hurt. Instead, he reached out and hugged the blonde nation. Poland turned and sobbed into his shoulder.

After a while, Poland's tears subsided into hiccups. He was no longer angry at Lithuania, either. The crying had done its job, and Poland was back to his normal self.

"So, like, we should totally go check out that store I saw the other day. Their dresses were absolutely fab! But I have to fix my make-up first. I look like a raccoon!" Poland gushed.

Lithuania nodded. His friend was definitely back to normal.

"Like, oh my gosh, Liet, you would look so cute in this! Go try it on! You have to!" Poland said, pushing a green, flowing dress towards the hesitant Lithuania. He stammered a bit before Poland shoved him into a dressing room and locked the door. He looked at the dress. The dress sat there.

"We aren't going to get along, are we?" He told the dress. But he had to. To make up for what he said to Poland.

He came out a few minutes later, looking extremely uncomfortable. Poland stared at him.

"I was right! I'm so getting that dress for you, Liet, you absolutely cannot leave here without it. I've already got the perfect pair of shoes for it, and I already know they'll fit!" Poland threw a pair of shoes at him. "Well, put them on already! What are you waiting for?" Poland impatiently admonished. Lithuania knelt down (so as not to tear the dress) and slipped the shoes on.

"Ah! I think there's something sharp in them. It poked me!" He said, pulling off one shoe, reaching inside of it to find the offending pointy thing. He pulled out a small needle. There was a reddish drop of blood on the tip.

"Feliks, I feel…dizzy." Lithuania said, falling over to lean against the mirror.

"Good. That's what it's supposed to do." Poland said to the confused Baltic State.

"F-Felix, it hurts. Help me…" Lithuania reached out a trembling hand towards his friend. His veins were starting to stand out against his neck. He gasped a few times, trying to get air into his failing lungs.

"Tell me, Toris, how does it feel to die?" Poland said, looking into Lithuania's dying eyes. Lithuania's outstretched hand fell to the ground. Poland walked out of the dressing room, not once looking back.

**What do you think? And Lithuania could get the dress on by himself because he's had some practice with Feliks. And yeah, I know Poland's probably died before, but it just sounds…right for the moment. Very dramatic.  
>I don't wanna be a review whore, but I still need suggestions! I can't think of any other characters to write! My only idea left is for WW3 Evil!Canada, and that's cliché! Unless I get a plot bunny, this story's gonna be over real quick. I thank Dave19941000 &amp; HiddenChaser for reviewing, favorite storying, and alerting this!<strong>


	4. Scenario 4: Deadly Affection

North Italy: Deadly Affection

*contains slight germancest. I had to give a reason why Italy wanted to kill someone, no? Contains N. Italy & his language habits. And, Germany stays dead because Prussia is there to take his place. I couldn't have him waking up, now could I? I also used Babelfish for the translations. Please correct me if you know I'm wrong. And this is a long A/N thing.

Scene4:

It was a G8 meeting, and the countries had just taken a break for lunch, as not much was getting done amidst the usual chaos. Many countries, like Germany, the Italy twins, Japan, Spain, Prussia, America, Russia, England, China, Vietnam, Canada, the Baltic States, France, and Greece, had convened in the cafeteria for a lunch courtesy of North Italy. It was, of course, pasta.

The usual problems that came with a setting like this were turning the cafeteria into a veritable war zone.

"Your breasts belong to me!"

"Leave me alone, aru!"

"Oh, mon amour, l'Agleterre, nous a laissés laisser et faire l'amour doux et doux ensemble sous lesétoiles!" (Oh, my love, England, let us leave and make sweet, sweet love together beneath the stars) France proclaimed, groping a very embarrassed England, while Greece slept next to them.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Canada! I feed you!"

"Become one with Russia. Kolkolkol."

"Feed me, because I'm the hero!"

"Kesesese, West, sollten Sie Wurst für mich kochen. Nieket." (Kesesese, West, you should cook wurst for me. Naked.) (Put it into Google translate [English to German] and hit listen. If the chick sounded like Prussia, that's what it would be like)

"Ahh, mi pequeño tomate, you should cook for us as well!"

"No way, tomato bastard! As if I would do something like that for you!"

Italy came out of the kitchen at that moment. "The pasta is ready, ve~!" He was carrying a few plates already. He passed it out to Germany, America, and Japan. Italy went back to the kitchen to grab more pasta, kind host that he is.

"GET OFF OF ME, YOU STUPID FROG!" England yelled, running into the relative safety of the kitchen, after giving the Frenchman a beautiful black eye.

"Only if you come out naked, mon cherie~" Said Frenchman taunted. Italy came out with a few more plates, and saw Prussia trying to steal food from Germany. Whether it was in his mouth or not. It was widely known that those two had more than a 'brotherly' bond for a while now, but it was the first time Italy had seen any proof. He nearly dropped the plates in shock.

Romano was near enough to grab the plates before they fell. He stomped back to where Spain was sitting and pushed a plate towards him. "Don't think this means anything, tomato bastard. I just don't want to be blamed if you die or anything." He quickly wolfed down his portion.

Italy turned on his heel, and marched back into the kitchen. He brought out two plates of food, and put one in front of Prussia, who had stolen the rest of Germany's meal. Before the greedy ex-nation could devour it, Germany whisked the plate away, and ate in the relatively quiet hallway. Italy plunked down in his abandoned seat, finally eating his beloved pasta now that everyone had been served. (England had grabbed a few plates for the other nations, mostly to bribe France into staying well away from him)

Once everyone was finished, and thanked the young Italian for the good food, they made their way back towards the meeting room to readjourn the meeting. Until they encountered Germany, collapsed in the hallway, face contorted in pain. Italy ran towards the body, tearing up. He felt the wrist, searching for a pulse. A tear fell after a minute.

"He-he's dead."

"He was poisoned. This was no accident. Someone wanted to specifically kill Ludwig." America said, after they tried to find the cause of death. No one could kill a nation easily. Only a few nations themselves knew how. This was something hardly anyone had experienced before.

"But who would want to kill Ludwig? He wasn't that bad…" France said. "Everyone has gotten over the wars, most of which we were unwilling participants in*. And it couldn't have been a human. Hardly any of them know we even exist, let alone how we can die. It has to be a nation."

"But who had access to the food? Italy, of course, but he can't hurt a fly, let alone a close friend." England said, stumping the other investigating nations. Prussia spoke up.

"That plate wasn't meant for West. Italy had already given him his food. I stole it from him. That was supposed to be my plate. Ludwig wasn't the target. I was."

"While that might slightly increase the motives list, it doesn't help if Italy was the only one who had access to the food." France said irritably, not liking this at all. "Are we sure he wouldn't do that? I was certain he had a crush on Ludwig, and he is Romano's brother…"

"How dare you suspect my brother! Even I wouldn't kill the potato bastard, because Feli would hate me for it, even if he did belong to someone else!"Romano yelled irritably from comforting Italy. Italy sniffled quietly, beforepiping up.

"I did…*sniff* have feelings for Doitsu…but I wouldn't…kill him because he didn't feel the same…" Italy burst into tears again, sobbing into his twin's shirt. France had the decency to look ashamed at his accusation.

"I'm sorry, Feliciano, I did not mean to upset you further. I was simply going over possibilities, however unlikely they might seem." France apologized to the smaller, crying nation. Italy nodded into Romano's shoulder, a muffled it's alright making its way to the assembled nation's ears.

"England, didn't you hide in the kitchen, to get away from France?" America spoke up, for the first time since the meeting silence. It was his uncharacteristic silence that alerted some of the other nations who hadn't seen what had happened as to how serious this was. England looked up, startled.

"I did. But what reason would I have to kill Gilbert? I wouldn't stoop to poison in any case." England said slowly. Russia stood up.

"Da, but what about France? Any one of us could have been your target, and Germany was collateral damage. And why didn't you mention you had access to the food in the first place?" Russia made a good point.

England tried responding, but dug himself deeper into a rut. Every word he said made more nations believe he was the culprit. Even though not much could be done (as what good would a life sentence or lethal injection be to someone who is immortal) the other nations did not trust him. He was soon an outcast in their selective society, and over the span of 50 years, even America couldn't bring himself to defend or forgive his father-figure.

*In my headcannon the nations are stuck fighting wars with each other because of their governments. They don't seem to really hate each other enough to want to kill themselves off, and the nations are at the whims of their people…

Yeah… This didn't turn out how I wanted it to… Italy was supposed to turn super psycho and be all, if I can't have him, no one can, but it didn't happen. Italy was the one to kill Germany, it was clear to me, but I wrote it. England was framed. I might do a sequel to this one too, having Italy kill someone else. But who…Italy won't kill anyone. Maybe his descent into true madness? And that sounded really poetic. I've been doing that a lot the past few days. Any ideas/reviews/favorites/alerts would be very appreciated!


	5. Scenario 5: Black Sheep

Lichtenstein: Black Sheep

*I used Babelfish for the translations. Russian is not my strong suit. Please correct me if you know I'm wrong. Same with the guns. I have shot a few before, but that doesn't make me an expert. This is probably one of the bloodiest things I have written. Includes detailed torture. Not for little kids. Ever. If you are one to get nightmares at bloody images, just press the little back button, now. I should probably up the rating. I have marked the start and end, since it's all in one place, and not necessary for the plot.

Scene5:

"Big brother? Big brother, where are you?" Lichtenstein yelled into the snowy streets of Moscow. They were there for a World Meeting, but it had been adjourned for the day, so Lichtenstein and Switzerland were roaming the streets, enjoying things not found in their respective countries.

"Сделайте вы нужна помощь?" (Do you need help?) A woman asked, tapping little Lichtenstein on the shoulder. She was wrapped in an expensive-looking fur lined coat. A large man, almost as tall as Russia himself, stood behind her like a bodyguard.

"I-I don't speak Russian. Do you speak German, or English?" Lichtenstein asked, naming some of the languages she was fluent in. The woman cocked her head to one side, considering the question for a moment.

"Yes, I speak little English. What is your name, маленькое одно?" (little one)The woman asked, in heavily accented English.

"My name is Lilli, Miss." Lichtenstein said, giving out her human name, as most normal people didn't know personified countries existed. The woman laughed a little. It was a pleasant sound, like bells chiming.

"No 'Miss'. I am Valeriya. Do you need help, маленькое одно? You seem lost."The woman-no, Valeriya- said, pulling Lichtenstein into the doorway of a restaurant, shielding them from the harsh winds. Valeriya noted the girl's careful glances at her companion. "My парень, how do you say… boy-friend? Yes, my boy-friend's name is Alexei. You need not fear him. He will not hurt you."Lichtenstein nodded, returning her attention to Valeriya.

"It's my big brother. We were separated by the crowd, and I can't find him anywhere." Lichtenstein rushed out in worry. She was lost and alone in a strange city. She was happy this nice couple stopped to help her, even if they hadn't done much yet.

"Ahh. You are lost. Well, there is a pay phone near here, if you wish, we could escort you there, and wait with you until your brother comes to collect you?"Valeriya offered, turning Lichtenstein towards the sidewalk. Lichtenstein nodded gratefully.

"Thank you, Valeriya, I would love that." Lichtenstein held onto the proffered hand, following Valeriya out into the snow. Alexei walked behind them both, again acting bodyguard-like.

"Получите ее." (Get her.) Valeriya barked out. Alexei reached out to cover Lichtenstein's mouth with a cloth, probably soaked in chloroform or the like. Lichtenstein struggled, but it was ineffectual against the large Russian. Soon enough, her sight went black as the drug took effect.

Lichtenstein woke up slowly. She didn't move, because people were more likely to talk around a prisoner who was unconscious. She had no illusions about her situation, she was a prisoner. After a half hour of pretending, with no sounds from anything, she opened her eyes to look at where she was incarcerated. It was a stereotypical warehouse. There were more than a few men with large guns standing guard, presumably more outside. Lichtenstein was chained to a heavy metal chair. Even with her increased strength as a country, she wouldn't be able to get out easily. A man, followed by Valeriya and Alexei walked up to her.

"Hello, Lilli. So nice of you to join us..."

**Switzerland POV**

"Where is she" Vash demanded, shoving a gunpoint into the throat of a passive Russia.

"Where is who, little Switzerland?*" Russia laughed quietly. "But where is little Lichtenstein? Surely you haven't lost her?" Switzerland slowly and dramatically pulled the hammer back. (western style, tru dat)

"I know you know where she is. Now, where- is- she?" Every word was punctuated by a push of the gun. Russia just smiled. Russia just smiled disarmingly.

"Why must you accuse me, little Switzerland? I have been one of the 'good guys' for some time now, Da?" Russia pushed the gun away from his neck. "As it is, I would be happy to tell you where she is. For a price." Vash turned even redder in barely controlled anger.

"Tell me where she is! Now!" Switzerland pointed the gun in between Russia's eyes.

"As it so happens, little Belarus has a liking for a certain variety of chocolate. Some of yours. Do we have a deal?" Russia ignored the gun at his forehead.

"Fine, deal, now where is she?"

"She is in a warehouse nearby, 7 blocks south south-east of here. I expect my payment in a business week." Russia just stared at Switzerland, disturbing him with his oddly purple eyes.

"Che." With that, Switzerland left, without looking back.

Switzerland burst through the warehouse doors, after taking out the outside guards with his favorite rifle. He snuck in a back door he had seen someone-most likely a higher-up- use. He reattached the silencer, because it was easier to move without it. He used his knife to take out a few close guards, before stealing the uniform.

It was your typical suit and tie getup, with accompanying bulletproof vest. He preferred to keep his own, though, since it was much more effective than these battlefield scrounged pieces of Kevlar. He had none of his usual qualms against killing, since his Lichtenstein was kidnapped by these bastards. A high pitched scream cut through the relative silence of the docks outside.

Switzerland rushed towards the ear-splitting sound, thinking it was Lichtenstein. He hid behind a shelf full of crates just before he ran out into the open, losing his cover. He had to be careful near the end, because the floor was slick with splattered and pooling blood. He peeked out to see Lichtenstein sitting in a chair, drenched in the sticky red liquid. Not spotting anyone else, he ran to her.

"Lilli, what's wrong? Where are you hurt? Who did this to-" He was cut off as he watched his little Lichtenstein pull the trigger of a gun pointing at the back of a crying young woman's head, execution style. He didn't blink as a bit of blood spatter stained his face. His mind was blank. He stared at the horrible scene, uncomprehending. **(Start of unimportant blood) **

Bodies were everywhere. It seemed little Lichtenstein hadn't limited herself to executions. Quite a few of the guards looked like bloody hunks of beef, in the middle of processing in a slaughterhouse. One of the people in particular, the man he had seen enter through the back door, barely recognizable, stood out in his mind.

It looked like he had been tortured. Crushed fingers littered around the body, broken before being amputated. His face looked like a pile of bloody dog food, so bruised, split, and broken it was. The muscles of his feet had been carved from his bones. There were burn marks over the wounds, probably cauterization so he didn't die immediately. His mouth was open, revealing that his tongue had been cut out, and his teeth knocked free. His eyelids fluttered loosely, proving that the eyeball had been either popped or melted free. He was covered in half-developed bruises from any skin that wasn't slashed open. Bullet holes were in strategic places around the body, away from important veins and arteries.

The woman he had seen die was covered in lacerations. She at least, wouldn't have to be identified by blood alone. Along with a man who had received a fierce beating. **(End of blood)** She held a knife loosely in her left hand, and a lighter was tucked into her belt. She turned, demented face filled with half-healed bruises.

"Hello brother. I got free. Do you like my work?" Her head tilted to the side slightly, like it would...before. But this...that wasn't his Lichtenstein. She was wrong. He wanted his little girl back.

"L-Lichtenstein? You did this?" His gun slid from his loose hands. It didn't click in his brain. He had seen horrible things, yes. He was there when they found the test subjects of the Holocaust. But this... this thing had his little sister's face. It used to be like that. When he was younger, he would see her face in those he killed, accusing him, blaming him. Hating him. But that was nothing. She was really here. She really did these things. "How could you?" Lichtenstein's face darkened.

"How could I? How could I? You hypocrite! Who left me to be abducted by them?" She accused gesturing to the broken bodies around her. "They did nothing if not worse to me, in the few hours I was here! If it wasn't for my healing abilities, I would be dead hundreds of times over! I guess you just don't care about me anymore! You care more about those who hurt me, tortured me, killed me, than your little sister! If that's how you really feel, then I don't need you anymore. Not anymore. I'm all grown up now..." Then she collapsed in maniacal laughter.

He couldn't take this anymore. That wasn't his sister. Not anymore. His little sister was gone. Beaten away by this new, darker personality that reminded him of Russia on his worse days. But even Russia wasn't this bad. Switzerland looked at his fallen gun. This couldn't escape. It would kill everything in it's path. He made the hardest and easiest decision in his life. He lunged for his gun.

*What I have heard Russia call other countries. Little _. He wouldn't call them by their first names unless he wanted to be creepy. Swiss chocolate to anyone who realizes what the chocolate is for. You don't have to tell me what it is, though. I'm familiar with it myself...urgh.

Lilly: *kidnapped*  
>Vash: breaks into abandoned warehouse<br>Lilly: big brother, you saved me. But you took too long, so imma kill joo nao  
>Vash: dies<p>

**Yeah… I thought that y'all would like my summary of the chapter, to break up the emo cliffy. I couldn't decide how to end it, so you get to pick your own! Review, because unless I get a good idea for a new chapter, this will officially be set as complete. Review, please. I want to know what y'all think!**


	6. Scenario 6: House of Horrors, part 1

**I got a nice request, so y'all can give a lovely thanks to melania for these next two installments. The usual blood/violence warnings occur.**

House of Horrors, Moonlight; pt 1

"Latvia!" Estonia called into Latvia's house. "Latvia, where are you?" Estonia walked through the door into the darkness of the hallway, wondering at the empty-looking house. Lithuania followed him, almost tripping over Sealand, who was hiding behind his legs. Estonia tried the light switch, and found that it wouldn't work.

"Where would he be? Latvia hates the dark." Lithuania said, peering into the gloomy living room. "Even the curtains are shut. You'd think he'd keep them open to let in some moonlight." Earlier that day, Estonia, Lithuania, and Sealand (through Sweden) had gotten a text from Latvia saying he was trapped in his house with Russia and needed help. It had taken them a few hours to meet up and get to Latvia's house, hence the late-night visit.

"I don't know, but it's really creepy! You should turn on a light or something." Sealand whined. He let go of Lithuania and made to turn the living room light on. Before he got there, the door slammed shut. Someone (Sealand) screamed. After everyone's heart stopped racing, Lithuania (being the closest) tried the door handle. It was locked.

"L-Latvia! That's not funny! You can come out now! Latvia?" Lithuania called. Estonia pulled his phone out to lighten the dark. He shone it on the door handle, and pointed at some metal stuck in the keyhole. "It looks like a piece of Russia's pipe…Why is it in the keyhole?" Lithuania leaned in closer

"It's red. But it's not rust… oh my god, it looks like blood. Where is Latvia? We have to find him. Now." worried, Lithuania stood up, and walked into the living room with Sealand. Estonia turned to follow, holding his phone up high, to spread the light, until something almost hit his hand, pulling the phone free. The light went out with a crackle, and the phone fell to the floor, broken clean in half. Everyone yelped in surprise, and Estonia felt a sting on his hand.

"What was that?" Sealand asked, noticing Estonia's concern. Estonia made out a relatively large slice in his hand, running from index finger to wrist.

"I don't know, but it cut my hand. I don't suppose you know where the first aid kit is, do you?" As it turned out, Lithuania did know, and retrieved it from the kitchen next door, while Sealand tried to find what had cut Estonia, and broken their light source. A few moments later, Lithuania came back, and Sealand hadn't found anything.

"I'll put some peroxide on it, so it doesn't get infected. We still don't know what cut you, after all." He pulled out the dark bottle, and soaked a cotton ball in the harsh-smelling liquid. Lithuania daubed it on the cut, and Estonia winced at the stinging, bubbly feeling. Once the cut was deemed clean, a bandage was wrapped around it, and they moved on to the stairs.

"If I was Latvia, where would I be?" Lithuania said to himself.

"Rather, if I was Russia, where would I hide Latvia?" Estonia answered. Sealand was shaking in fright. They looked at each other, and said, "Basement." Sealand took one look at the creaky, old steps and almost cried in fright. Estonia volunteered to go first.

"Be careful, these are pretty old." Estonia cautioned, slowly stepping down from one step to the other. Lithuania ended up carrying Sealand down. As they stepped on the landing, they noticed a light shining through a half-open doorway. They hesitantly pushed open the door to find Russia.

They all froze in fright. Russia, though he may not be anymore, was lying on the ground. In pieces. There was a pool of blood, still spreading from the disconnected joints. Estonia and Sealand could only stare in wide-eyed horror, until Lithuania had the presence of mind to bodily haul them out of the room and slam the door.

The second Sealand snapped out of it, he tore up the stairs and ran for the door. He was horrified beyond belief. After all, what kind of _thing_ were they trapped in this house with, that could do something like that to one of the strongest nations? He slammed into the front door, pounding and screaming to be let out, tears falling down his face.

Estonia and Lithuania tore after him, but before they made it to the top of the stairs, they heard an ear-splitting shriek. They made it to the living room and stopped, silently padding towards the front door, fists held out in front of them, hoping to find the young micro-nation alive. With trepidation, they turned into the front hall.

They were too late. They didn't see Sealand anywhere, but there was a smear of blood running down the pale door, too much for someone of Sealand's size to loose and live for very long, even as a nation. There was a muffled thump, like something heavy falling on carpet and it came from their left. It was coming from an unexplored section of the house. They looked into the dining room, wary of what may come, fear sharpening their senses, survival instinct kicking in.

**The next part will come out soon; I'm just fine-tuning it, maybe upping the creep/angst factor. I still don't own Hetalia, and no, I don't actually hate Russia. He's one of the characters I really like, which may be why I'm focusing on killing him so much. What would you guys say to a chapter with Austria? And I'm also thinking about posting some of my stories I write for class here. I don't like my teacher, and I try to creep her out with violent Hetalia ficlets. Yay or nay in a review/pm, please!**


	7. Scenario 7: House of Horrors, part 2

**The only new warning I have here is an over-use of. Dramatic. Incomplete. Sentences.**

House of Horrors, Firelight; pt 2

Lithuania led the way, and edged around the chairs towards the stairway. They heard a thump, coming from the upstairs, like someone had stomped on the floorboards. Estonia and Lithuania exchanged glances. They scaled the stairs, which were in better condition than the basement ones, but they still creaked every other step. When they reached the landing, Estonia tried the light. The electricity was not working yet.

They turned down the hall, and Lithuania signaled to Estonia to watch his back. He opened a closet door, looked inside, waiting for something to jump out at them. After a bit of looking around, Lithuania came up with a baseball bat. Since it was the only available weapon, and he was still leading, he claimed it to defend them both with.

They proceeded down the hall, opening doors, to ensure there were no nasty surprises behind them. They found a couple of spare bedrooms, another closet, and a bathroom. The windows were all shut, locked, and barred, so there was no chance of escape from that route. They came upon the third bedroom, and saw it was faintly ajar. Lithuania told Estonia to push the door open, while Lithuania confronted whatever was inside on the count of three. One, two…

Three! Estonia pushed the door open, and Lithuania brandished the bat at the small figure inside. It turned slowly towards them, floating eerily above the ground, moonlight shrouding the figure from behind. As it revolved, Lithuania warily stepped closer, to get a look at the floating thing. Until he saw the bloody sailor's hat on the ground underneath.

"Sealand!" Estonia cried out, rushing forward to help the micro-nation. He was dead, hung by a rope suspended from the ceiling. Lithuania was a bit more cautious, looking around the room for anything the killer could have hidden behind, then turned to watch the doorway. He heard a heavy creaking behind him, and he whipped around just in time to see the floor break to pieces and swallow a hapless Estonia.

As the floor fell out from under him, Lithuania managed to get to the doorway, onto stable ground, but couldn't help his fallen brother. He waited for the dust and furnishings to settle before leaning out into the empty expanse that was the third spare bedroom. He saw all the way down to the basement, lit by an orange glow, as if someone had started a fire. In the flickering light, Lithuania saw Estonia at the top of the pile of wood and broken furniture, impaled upon a beam, clearly dead.

There was nothing for it. Lithuania had to get out of this place. Five nations went in, and, as far as he knew, only one was still surviving. Himself. He ran down the stairs into a wall of heat and flames. The fire he saw before had spread, and quickly. Much too quickly for it to have been an accident. Someone was trying, and succeeding, to kill them all.

As his eyes adjusted to the terrible brightness and heat of the fire, he noticed the front door was open. Thirty feet away, through a solid mass of writhing, biting flames. But there was no other choice. He pulled his jacket off, and wrapped it around his head and hands, to protect them from the worst of it, and breathed in the super-heated air that was scalding his lungs, full of smoke and ash. With a mighty leap, he jumped onto the clearest patch, and began running.

He dodged the fire as best he could, but it was like a living beast. In one moment, things would look clearer, and he would reach for the empty space. Then it would change, and he was completely engulfed in flames, sparks catching on his clothes. But he couldn't reach down to put them out and leave his eyes unprotected.

And then he tripped. Lithuania was so close to the door, he could reach out past the doorway. But he was pinned down by a burning couch, fallen from the floor above. That was when Latvia made his appearance. He was covered in ash, face apathetic and uncaring. He crouched down to Lithuania's level.

"How does it feel, brother," Latvia spit the word, "To have everyone you love abandon you? You left me alone with Russia, and I couldn't do anything about it. Not then, I couldn't. He hurt me, you know. He beat me, raped me, branded a sign into my back. You think you had it bad, with your whip marks and scars. He used the whip on my thighs, because I was more 'sensitive' and 'vocal'. He carved his name into my chest, so I would never forget him, could never get away." Latvia was ranting now, as his brother was crushed beneath the rubble, fire cauterizing the wounds before exposing more flesh to burn.

"Estonia's broken finger is nothing. He cut my right twelfth rib from my body. I almost died of blood loss. Do you remember that day, when he took me away for a week? I was in the basement, recovering after the emergency blood transfusion he gave me, so I could continue to be his 'pet'. I almost got frostbite and pneumonia. You will share some of my pain, you will all pay." Latvia stood up.

"And know that you will never get away." Latvia stamped on Lithuania's wrist, shattering the bones, before placing an iron collar around his neck, in preparation for when Lithuania's nationhood revived him. As a tear evaporated from his face, Lithuania fell unconscious, surrendering himself to the pain of death.

**I am sorry, I changed the characters, but not the 'completed story' button…toggle…option…thing. Anyways, this story will probably have new chapters added, so I'll get on that button thing soon. I'm sorry it went up later than expected, my computer wouldn't let me log in. I'll put up another chapter or two, since I got such a lovely review (you know who you are. It made my day ^-^) I thank you all for reading/reviewing/alerting/favoriting this.**


	8. Scenario 8: Piano Strings

Piano Strings

They never appreciate his music. They said it was useless, and ruined his only source of comfort for the last time. They won't be able to make that mistake twice. Although many forget, he used to be a strong nation, a major power in the world. He owned the mighty Holy Roman Empire. He had conquered anyone to weak to stand in his way.

They had bowed at his feet, had begged for mercy once before, and they will do so again. He started with a major irritation, Prussia. That annoying brat, he was always sneaking around, ruining his piece, his lovely piano. He can get as close as he wants now that I've gotten my revenge. He wasn't a part of us anymore. He lost that right when he lost his land and people.

Prussia was strung up in piano wire, held up in the rafters of his former home. His face was a bruised purple, and his neck was red where the thin piano wire strangled and cut into the pale skin. He was surprised, though not really. Prussia used to be one of the strongest nations he knew, but he barely put up a fight. Not one Austria had noticed anyways, though Prussia was never one to give up the fight. Maybe he had wasted away to nothing here, alone and abandoned?

It was no matter. He wouldn't bother anyone again. He and his little bird, strung up together, forever wrapped in the embrace of death.

**This was one of those I had written for my English teacher. I had to change some things in the original, and I added a few things to clear it up for the readers I like. Bueno dia de San Valentino, everybody! Wow, that seems sick, to put that here. A bit fitting, though, if you remember the story behind the 'day of love'.**


	9. Pink Police: The Other Side of Crime

**JACK THE RIPPER**  
>I walked down the dark London streets. They were blanketed in a thick fog, as per usual this time of year. It was mid-spring, and the air had warmed from the icy bite of winter. I have had to hold off on my nightly 'activities'. The blood doesn't flow as easily in the cold.<p>

My name is Arthur Kirkland. I was an orphan, but my brothers raised me. Except for Scotty, but that's another story. I'm not married, but I have two sons and a daughter. Their names are Alfred, Ananya, and Kaoru. I have green eyes, and blonde hair. People say I look like my mother, but I've never seen the woman. She died in childbirth, because of me. It must run in the family, because the mothers of my children died the same way. During the day, I'm a factory worker. They won't work me to death, but only just. My night life, however, is very different.

Something has come up in the newspapers recently. A crime. I'm sure you've heard of it, it has everybody talking. Everyone _afraid_. The murders. Cold-blooded slaughters. He's only killed women so far, but I've seen how quickly that can change. The police at Scotland Yard are baffled, the press is branding him a monster, and the people live in fear. Except for me. I am safe, as I know the man intimately. He and I are not strangers, this man they call 'Jack'. After all, it is good to know yourself?

I skirted around an open pub doorway, spilling light onto a cobblestone street. Drunken men hung onto escorts, manners forgotten in the bliss of alcohol's sweet breath. The escorts themselves wore gaudy, revealing clothes, and pressed themselves against the prospective 'customers'. Filthy leeches, dragging down society. Just seeing them made me see the others, walls covered in their dirty blood. It made me yearn for that feeling all the harder. But I couldn't play with them yet. I had an appointment to keep.

I walked on, head down, making my way through the alleys, with which I had made myself familiar. I had heard tell of these prostitutes' servicing grounds. It would weaken them further if they saw their fellow **leeches** dead, in a place they considered safe. I can't leave them as they are, polluting our city, dirtying our streets. They are trash that must be taken out, before we choke in our own refuse.

I saw the last turn I should make before I reach the place where their influence is strongest. I waited patiently before looking around the corner, to see where my artistry would take place. The 'square' had washing lines strung up, with blankets hanging down to cordon off sections for their 'private' use. Perfect. I won't have any interruptions. I took one last look around, before stepping out into the open, and chose my target. She had long, unkempt blonde hair, and bright blue eyes. She had pale skin, underneath the grime of the streets.

She could have been pretty, if she wasn't what she was. I had seen her before, working the streets. Looking to any man to get the job done. She had approached me once, but I had just sated my _need_, and was blinded by my haze of pleasure. The clothes she was wearing didn't disguise her bony form. She was starving, like everyone else in this god-forsaken city, another hungry mouth draining our ever-dwindling resources. IF she had been human, I would have felt sorry for her. She was the perfect one, so I emerged from my hideaway, and walked towards her, swaggering confidently.

"hello, lover. Fancy a bit of fun, do 'ya?" I slurred slightly, in a low voice. I drew her close, hands wandering as I placed sloppy kisses down her neck. "I'll pay you well." I whispered in her ear, cinching the deal. I was drunk, had money, and was reasonably attractive. The perfect customer. She leaned back and whispered in my ear,

"You'd better. Now, let's go somewhere more...alone." She grabbed my forearm, and led me to an isolated stall in one corner, swaying her hips in what she thought was a suggestive manner. 'So imperative, I bet she fancies herself a queen!' In keeping with my character, I allowed myself to be led away, stumbling slightly. The other whores we passed hurried to get out of her way. She is the queen, I suppose, Queen of this trash. And you know what happens to undefended monarchs. Assassination is a good start.

She led me into the tent, oblivious to my honorable intentions. Once we were alone, I pinned her down, ravaging her throat with my teeth, marking her as my kill. I pressed my hips down on hers, pleasuring myself with this sub-human. She put up a fight, but I knew it to be a false ploy to keep me interested. When I broke off for breath, I spied a strip of cloth. I tore it in half lengthwise. I used one half to bind her hands, the other to gag her, so she couldn't interrupt my fun by screaming. I enjoyed the sound, but her 'friends' would surely raise the alarm, and I have not yet fulfilled my duty.

I sat back to admire my handiwork, pleased that she could not escape. I was overcome by my desire in that instant. My ritual has begun, by release was near. I pulled the knife out of my back pocket, flicking it open. I watched the fear glitter in the girl's eyes. I cut her clothes away, and used those to reinforce my original binding, as well as positioning her exactly how I wanted, arms bound beneath her, with her legs spread, on her back. I fulfilled my promise, using her as she used others, for personal pleasure. At the point of my orgasm, I slit her throat. The ultimate high of sex and death.

But the ritual wasn't complete. I must bare every piece of her body before God, and cleanse this filth off our streets with her blood. I took a vial from my coat and filled the small container with her blood. I nestled it safely back in my pocket, the cork shoved tightly into the opening, so my offering isn't wasted. Now, for the cleansing. I shed myself of my gloves and coat, so I could hide my bloody wrists afterwards.

With surgical precision, I plunged my knife into her soft abdomen. I sawed through the cartilage of her ribs, cutting upwards around her sternum. I cut as shallowly as I could, to avoid slicing through the heart of lungs. Once I reached the clavicle, I cut perpendicularly to my original gash, cutting between the first ribs and clavicles, still avoiding the major organs and blood vessels I knew to be there. I did the same at the cradle of her hips, just above the triangle of dark hair covering her womanhood.

I broke her ribs with my hands, as near to her spinal cord as I could make it. I pulled the flaps of skin apart to make a door, opening her body to my exploration. I took in the sight of her chest and abdominal cavities, neatly divided by her diaphragm. I pulled out the skein of flesh that held her innards together. Earlier, the medical books I had gotten a hold of labeled it the 'greater omentum'. I lightly ran my fingers over her more prominent organs, like her liver, lungs, and intestines. I caressed her -until recently- beating heart. I slipped my hand beneath her former source of life, forcing my fingers through the filaments holding the organ in place, and lifted her heart out of her body. I sighed as the tissue keeping the heart in it's' place snapped, leaving the only thing tying the heart to its owner were the arteries and veins, which I quickly severed.

I pulled it out, admiring how clean it was, compared to how dirty I knew it to be. I squeezed until the organ was crushed between my fingers. Blood ran down my arm in rivulets, broken my soft chunks of muscle. I couldn't help myself, and I licked my hand clean, taking her inside of me, purifying her soul of the absolute darkness it was tainted by. Now that she has joined with me, in body and soul, I could sense her, begging me to help her cleanse the world of her filth. I acquiesced to her final request, and began to cut out the rest of her organs.

First, I pulled the lobes of the liver apart, cutting them into their 5 distinct sections. I placed a portion at every cardinal point, and the last I left beneath her head as a sick sort of pillow. Next, I severed the connections between the intestines and abdominal cavity, and pulled it out, along with the webbed tissue holding it together. I strung the 27 feet around the interior of the tent, linking the liver as one living chain of death.

I located the stringy pancreas, looking like a piece of well cooked strip of beef. I cut it out, and set it in the northeastern corner of my grisly circle. I filled the northwest corner with her spleen. The southern corners contained her eyes. I spotted her dark-blue kidneys, striking against her hear-empty abdominal cavity. I severed the urethra and blood vessels, pulling the oxygen-rich organ free. I peeled away the shiny tissue covering the kidney, like one would strip a banana of it's peel.

As I held it, I imagined it was a peach. It was soft, and the slick blood feigned the feel of the fuzzy shell. Using my dulling knife, I cut it in half lengthwise, letting it fall apart like butterfly wings, light maroon tissue spiking outward from the center, gently stabbing the thin, lacing arteries with smooth waves of flesh. The two halves were barely connected by vascular walls at the back. I repeated this process with the other kidney, and laid them both next to her shoulders, spread like tiny wings.

I noticed her body was beginning to stiffen into rigor mortis. I had to work quickly, before the body completely stiffened up. I sliced open the aorta, the thick artery oozing blood. I turned her on her side, and let her blood spill. I was entranced, as the half-dry blood from her throat mixed with the fresher, but drying, blood. It spread across the flagstones, and I moaned, finding myself half-hard from the grotesque display. I couldn't leave like this, I wouldn't find release if I left now. I slipped my pants down.

The blood on my hands acted as lubrication, as well as fuel for my desire. I pulled myself closer to the edge, holding myself back, to better the rush when it came. Panting, I increased the speed of my strokes, rising to a frenzied pace. All of a sudden, I saw white, as my high took hold, and I crashed down to earth. When my vision cleared, I saw the blood mix with my release to form a thick, viscous fluid.

The blood had spread out to the edges of the tent, had found the organs I had placed with loving care, bordering on reverence. I had to leave soon, before I was found. I grabbed my coat and gloves, after positioning the woman into a saintly pose, her redeemed soul finding peace. I donned my clothing, covering her blood. I checked my pocket for the vial of blood.

I walked out calmly, sated, closing the flaps of the tent behind me. I strode away silently, attracting as little attention as possible. I looked like another sated customer, stalking back to his home and wife. I made it to the mouth of the alley without any trouble. I was long gone when the screaming started.

**END****  
><strong>**If you haven't guessed already, this was England. The person he killed is just a random human; there are no other nations involved. I didn't mean to make it so gory or satanic-cult-like. It just happened. Also, the medical knowledge and processes described here should be accurate enough/possible, if you have practice. I have, in my anatomy class, performed all of these procedures myself (besides the rape), but on a cat and with the supervision of my professor. I also didn't go on a bloody rampage, though I'm sure many of you would think otherwise.**


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